Page 13 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“That sounds promising,” he said, feeling a first drop of rain on his nose. “We should—”
He was cut off by a surprised cry from Cecilia, followed by the sound of thundering hooves. The thoroughbreds Raphael and Edward had ridden came bolting down the path, commanded by Peter Pincher. He whipped the air and they galloped harder, leaving no room on the path for Cecilia.
She hopped back into Raphael as the horses zipped past, and the both of them fell backwards into the ditch behind them. Raphael caught himself on the hedge, but Cecilia was not so lucky, falling bottom-first into the ditch.
Raphael shouted after Pincher, clambering out of the ditch and onto the dirt path. The groom spared him an evil glance before riding away. He balled his fists, debating running after him, then he remembered his walking partner.
“Lady Cecilia!”
She was sitting in the ditch, her ankles peeking over the top. Her hands were splayed out behind her and she tried to push herself up. Her white woollen coat was ruined, and her bonnet had fallen off. She locked gazes with Raphael, and to his immense surprise, she began laughing.
The heavens burst open as she did, but her laughing drowned out even the thunder. “Oh, this really is just perfect!” She stretched out her hands and fingers, blinking against the rain. It cascaded over her face, and her dark hair coiled around her cheeks. She outstretched her arms and bowed as deeply as she could. “Ta-da!”
Raphael froze. The rain pelted him, and within seconds his clothes were soaked through. He stared at this gorgeous, elegant,wildwoman, thrashing about in the ditch, and he could hardly believe she was the same Cecilia he had been avoiding for the better part of a year.
“Take my hand!”
She leaned forward with a groan and clapped her gloved hand in his. He yanked her up, but his boots slipped against the wet grass of the bank and he stumbled, catching himself but letting her go.
Cecilia fell back and cheered him on. “We really are a pair! Utterlyde travers!”
“Lady Cecilia, you will catch a cold!”
“Oh, posh!”
“Posh?!”
He crouched down and grabbed her hand again, pulling her to a stand. She jumped up in the ditch and climbed out, sighing as she tasted freedom. Raphael circled her and swiped her bonnet from the hedge. She beamed as he shook it out. One of its flowers flew off, landing back in the ditch.
“You really are a terrible seamstress.”
She shrugged. “I told you so.”
Taking the bonnet in both hands, he moved to place it on Cecilia’s head. “Is this proper?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Her brows shot into her hairline. “You do notknow?”
“These are unusual circumstances.” The bonnet fit snugly on her head, but the better part of her hair had fallen out of his chignon and was cascading down her back. He moved to tie the ribbons beneath her chin but faltered. He could feel her hot breath against his fingers, and his body tensed. Chastising himself inwardly, he tied a clumsy bow.
“How do I look, Mr Travers?”
“Really—” His voice caught in his throat. “Very nice.”
“Really very nice?” Her dark lashes were wet with rain, and she blinked. She tore the bonnet off. “That felt like putting on wet socks, but on my head.”
“I need to get you out of the rain.”
Raphael glanced over her head. The stables were closer than the manor. He did not fancy taking his chances with Mr Pincher, but it was safer to seek shelter and wait for the storm to pass, or ride Lady Cecilia back, than brave the long walk back in February. With any luck, the workers would have taken refuge in the rooms above the stables to wait out the rain. The last thing he wanted was anyone leering at his employer’s daughter.
He looked down at Cecilia. “Are we still going riding?” she teased.
Groaning, he grabbed her hand and began running down the path.
Mr Travers was holding her hand. Mr Travers, who was not French but Spanish, who was witty and bossy, who was actually called Raphael, was holding her hand.
Well, not so much holding her hand assqueezingit like a meat cleaver as they sprinted down the path. Her bonnet flapped in her hand, and her hair was dripping down her neck and shoulders. This was all Cecilia’s fault for lying, and she should not have been enjoying herself.
But she was.
